Going Ahead

Chloe died on October 15th, and she wasn’t happy about it.

She knew the disease would eventually kill her, but she didn’t expect it to come so soon. She also didn’t think she’d be around after to see her family fall about. But here she was, standing in the corner of the dimly lit, yellow hospital room, watching her family grieve. Her sisters were hugging each other, while her father rubbed her weeping mother’s shoulders, trying to get her to loosen her grip on her dead daughter.

“Honey,” he whispered, his voice catching in his throat, “we have to go now.”

“I can’t,” Chloe’s mother sobbed. “I can’t leave her here alone.” Chloe turned away and stared out the window. She couldn’t stand to see her mother cry.

The doctor came in, gave his condolences, and ushered the family out of the room to take care of paperwork for the funeral home. When the door clicked shut behind them, Chloe was left alone, holding vigil over her withered body. She looked at the body’s face—her face—which seemed so waxy and pale now, all the color gone from its cheeks. She was dead. She was gone.

But she wasn’t gone. She was still here. What was she supposed to do now? She guessed that she was a ghost, but she didn’t know if she should try to leave the room or if she should stay with her body. She thought there would be some sort of “white light” to greet her, but there wasn’t.

Maybe I died the wrong way, she thought. Can you die wrong?

She felt a sudden buildup for helplessness and rage. “I’m too freaking young to die! I’m only 22! I didn’t know the right way to do it!” She noticed her voice didn’t echo in the room. It didn’t carry like a living voice. It was dead, like she was—it disappeared the moment it left her lips.

Not knowing what else to do, she slid down the wall and sat on the floor. I guess I’ll just follow my body around for the next few days. She raised her knees up to her chest and started to cry.

***

“Amazing Grace! How sweet the sound…” she listened to her family and friends sing three days later.

Chloe stood in the back of the church, a spectator at her own funeral. The sanctuary was packed. Did she really know that many people?

She walked to the front of the room and saw her friends, Lily and Stephen, their eyes red-rimmed and puffy. Lily’s pregnant belly rubbed against the front of the pew. “She’s due in three weeks. And I’m not going to be here for her,” Chloe thought.

Stephen stood next to Brad, Chloe’s fiancé, holding his arm to make sure he didn’t collapse. Brad’s suit was wrinkled. He’d been wearing the same suit the last day she saw him—the day she died. She’d convinced him that they had time, and he could go to work. She didn’t want to die in front of him. Has he been wearing that suit the whole time? Why did I tell him to leave?

She got closer to Brad, realizing that he was mouthing the words to the song, but no sound was coming out. I’ll always love you, Brad. I wish we’d had more time together.

The music stopped, and everyone took their seats. Chloe sat down beside her mother. “I miss you, baby,” her mother whispered, almost like she knew she was there.

“I miss you too, Momma.” She got up and stepped away from everyone. She knew she was crying, even though she couldn’t feel any tears.

The pastor started the service, talking about walking through a valley, fearing no evil, and everything else they say at funerals that people never really remember. Chloe leaned against a wall, and her mind began to wander.

Is there a God? If so, why didn’t my life matter to him? Why did I die so young? And why would he put my loved ones through all this pain?

She looked over at a man in a wrinkled suit, his head in his hands, his shoulders heaving with every sob. She wanted to comfort him, but instead, she moved toward her casket.

Looking at her body again in makeup she would never wear and wearing a dress she hated, she thought back to the preparation. She’d wanted to kick the funeral director when she saw what he’d done to her. What was his name again?

When the funeral procession started, she watched people coming up one by one to say goodbye. She saw a couple approach, the woman twisting her funeral program until it almost ripped in two. The man had his arm around her shoulder. “We’re going to miss you, sweetie,” the woman said. “We’re naming the baby Chloe.” She put an ultrasound picture in the coffin before the man led her away.

Who was that? Chloe shook her head, it taking her a minute to remember Lily and Stephen’s names. What is wrong with me?

Next was the man in the wrinkled suit; he leaned over and kissed the forehead of the dead woman. He looks so sad, Chloe thought. Do I know him?

“Come on, Brad. I’ll give you a ride home,” another man said. Oh my God! Brad! That’s my fiancé. The room was starting to spin. What’s happening?

“Chloe, it’s time to go now,” a misty, glowing figure said from across the room. Chloe had to shield her eyes from the light.

“Who are you, and why can you see me?”

“I’m your messenger. I’m here to take you away from this life and into the next.”

“I can’t remember anything. Why can’t I remember anything?”

The figure sighed. “Everyone wonders that. It’s all part of the process, Chloe. When we die, our body dies, but not our soul. Forgetting is the way our soul prepares us to go into the next life.”

“But why?” Chloe’s eyes darted around from person to person. “Why can’t I keep all the memories?”

“Because the grief would kill your soul, and you wouldn’t be able to go on.”

Then it was time to leave. Chloe followed the figure, starting to feel happier with every step, excited to start her new life. She looked around one more time. She saw two girls hugging each other while a man rubbed a weeping woman’s shoulders, trying to get her to loosen her grip on the body in the casket.

“Honey,” he whispered, his voice catching in his throat, “we have to go now.”

Those poor people, Chloe thought. I wonder who died.